


I Can No Longer Be Your Friend

by kittykatknits



Series: Pluck a Red Rose Blowin [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Not a Poldark AU, Poldarkish, R plus L equals J, Robb Ships It, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: "One day, you wake up and realize everything you could ever want is here within the walls of Winterfell, if only you had the courage to ask for it.” Robb paused, making faces at his son.__________Inspired by a few different scenes in Poldark, Jon has a question for Sansa, just as soon as he works up the courage. You DO NOT need to watch the show to follow this story.





	I Can No Longer Be Your Friend

Sansa sat by the fire in Jon’s solar to await his return. Jon and her brother had not been expected to arrive home in Winterfell for many days yet. Bran had been Sansa’s only warning, letting her know of Summer’s growing excitement as his brothers drew ever closer.

There was always so much for Sansa to do, she functioned as both Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North, in duty if not in name. Jeyne was a sweet girl but not equipped to handle the many responsibilities her role required. Yet, she had set all of it aside once she knew Jon would be home that day, her only concern had been for him.  A pitcher of cold water stood ready for him to clean his face and hands, fresh ale sat on his table, and a fire burned in his hearth. She knew he would be hungry but eager to avoid the din of so many people in the great hall so had made sure a warm meal also waited his arrival.

Sansa sat by the fire and drew forth the new gown she had been creating for little Brynden from her sewing basket, his first name day soon approached and she wished to have it ready before then. It was a simple white linen with several grey direwolves along the hem. Her basket also contained handkerchiefs she had made but never given to Jon. Sansa was neither his wife nor betrothed so had resisted that desire, aware of the significance behind such a personal gift. As close as they had grown since Jon found her in that crofter’s village, she had no claim to him.

The slow creak of a door hinge and the sharp tap of his boots on stone marked Jon’s arrival. Sansa stood, the gown forgotten on the chair, and approached him. She felt ripped in two, the smaller piece of her felt it best to offer her hand for him to kiss. The other piece, so much larger, wanted to pull him close and lose herself in his embrace.

It made no matter, Jon decided for her, approaching to stroke the hair from her face and kiss her forehead in that way he he did. “I hoped you would be here.” His beard had grown long, likely unshorn since leaving Winterfell. His clothes were travel worn, dried mud along the edges of his breeches and cloak. She could see fine dust in the wrinkles of his neck and along the edge of his hair line. Jon had not bathed in his haste to return home, she allowed herself to feel the smallest bit of hope over it.

Sansa began pulling at the folds of her gown, a plain blue wool. “I had not expected you so soon.”

Jon gave her a queer expression she could not identify, his lips pulled back into an almost frown. “Did you not?”

He walked towards the water pitcher she had prepared for him, pouring some into a nearby bowl and splashing it onto his face and neck to rub the dirt of his travels away. He took a step back, looking for something. She could see the drops of water clinging to strands of his hair, a rivulet slid down his cheek and neck before disappearing into the collar of his tunic.

Sansa handed him a linen cloth to dry his face before pouring a cup of the ale he preferred.

“My mouth is dry. Could you fetch me some of the ale I saw on the table?”

He pulled the cloth from his face and grinned as he took the cup from her hand. “Am I so predictable?”

“Not predictable, only dearly known.” It was the truth, Sansa knew his habits and could often guess Jon’s need before he could express it. There were days when their closeness would surprise her once again, the younger version of herself would never have expected her to grow so close to her cousin Jon Snow. Yet, their journey home to Winterfell had brought them together, they had whispered their secrets in the dark of night and enjoyed the quiet comfort of the other’s presence during the day.

After returning home to Winterfell, she had taken to spending most of her evenings in his solar. The responsibilities of ruling the north and Winterfell kept them apart for much of the day but after the evening meal, they would retire away from others. Some nights they would talk over the frustrations of their day and others, he would quietly listen as she read him stories. It was a piece of him only Sansa had and she held it close, a time that not even Arya would intrude upon.

“I would say the same of you, Sansa.” Jon’s hand moved towards her and for moment she thought he would touch her or pull her into his embrace. She was wrong, his arm fell back to his side and that moment was gone. “Will you stay with me while I eat?”

She followed him to the table. “I had planned too.”

Sansa sat and watched him begin to eat. It was a simple meal, ham and bread with honey, smoked fish, spring greens, roasted squash, and baked apple. Jon ripped into the bread, swallowing after only a couple bites. It was the same with the ham and squash, bite after bite until his mouth grew full and his cheeks round. She laughed, taking delight in watching him eat.

Jon’s face grew red in embarrassment, he quickly chewed and swallowed. “I have not yet eaten. We rose while it was still dark in our haste to return, stopping only to rest the horses.”

Sansa wished he had hurried for her sake but guessed it was Robb wanting to return to his wife and son. “Will you tell me of what happened while you were gone?”

His earlier ease disappeared. Jon ceased eating to finish his cup of ale before pouring more. “More brigands left from the wars. We gave them the same choice we give others, the wall or death.”

It was as she expected, as she had worried over. Jon swung the sword himself, they did not employ a headsman in the north. It was a duty he shared with Robb, they had decided between them to share the burden of hearing a man’s final words before casting judgment. “And what choice did they make?”

Jon rubbed his face, pulling the hair away from his eyes. “There was one, he killed a child. I saw the body myself, a little boy no more than seven. The man refused the wall, claimed it was not even living. I had Longclaw out when he began blubbering away, said he was a father and had children of his own.”

“Did he?”

“I’ll never know.”

Jon stared at his food, appetite gone. Sansa reached out, stroking his hand with her finger. “You can not save everyone, Jon.”

“I tell myself that more than I care to think on.” He abruptly stood and walked towards the fire, facing away so she could not read his expression.

Sansa rose, preparing to follow when Jon came back, standing close to her. She saw him flex the fingers of his right hand, once, twice.

“How do you do it?”

She did not understand. “How do you mean?”

“I suppose you wouldn't know.” Jon drew closer, leaning into her until his lips grazed hers, a light brush before he pulled away and whispered, “I think I can no longer be your friend.”

Sansa felt his hot breath against her skin and the ghost of his lips against her own.

The door to his solar opened with a slam so loud, Sansa would swear the stone walls shook from the force of it. Her stomach twisted to see it was Arya, excited over Jon’s sudden return. No words needed to be spoken for Sansa to know, her sister would demand his company and Jon would give it.

“I knew I would find you here. You promised to practice with me.” Arya bellowed the words out, her presence seeming to take up all the space in the room.

She grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him from the room. He did not so much as glance her way.

Sansa stood alone, in the same place as when he had almost kissed her. The fire cracked once. She looked at his meal, it sat half eaten, his cup of ale still full. The gravy had begun to cool and thicken. The bread would grow hard and stale. Sansa picked up her sewing basket and left his solar, leaving the uneaten food and her brief moment of hope behind.

They did not speak for the remainder of the day, even as she spied him with Arya in the training yard and sat a mere two seats apart for the evening meal. After, Bran pushed and cajoled, arranging for her family to gather in Robb’s solar, away from the rest of the Winterfell household.  Sansa sat by the fire with Rickon, listening to his tales of that day’s adventures with Shaggy, the dragons they had slayed and the princess they had rescued.

“You won’t leave me ever again, will you?”

This was not the first time her younger brother had asked her this question. The death of their parents had scarred him, as it had them all. Rickon had taken to calling her mother during particular fits of anger.

“Do you remember Lady Brienne? We could visit Tarth together, walk along the beach and build castles in the sand. They call it the Sapphire Isle, did you know that? We could ask Robb if you would like.” Brienne and Jaime had suggested a visit more than once, she would enjoy seeing them again. The offer to Rickon had been meant as a distraction but the idea, once uttered, held much appeal.

“You should sing for us, Sansa,” said Bran.

She was not aware he had listened, her brother had been reading next to her. Sansa also had little desire to sing in front of an audience that evening.

“What shall I sing?”

The room grew quiet, attention focused on her. She heard suggestions for _The Rat Cook_ , _The Wolf Maid,_ and others. Sansa dared not look look towards Jon, she had not heard him name a song.

“You already know.” Bran briefly placed his hand over hers before returning to his book.

Sansa did know.

_I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love_

_I'd a pluck a red rose blowin'_

_Love's in my heart, i'm tryin' so to prove_

_What your heart's knowin'_

_I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn_

_I'd a pluck a finger bleedin'_

_Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn_

_And your heart needin'_

_I'd a hold a finger to my tongue_

_I'd a hold a finger waitin'_

_My heart is sore, until it joins in song_

_With your heart matin'_

Jon loved Sansa’s voice, soft and sweet, he let it drift over him, lost in the words of her song. Her music was painful, a further reminder on just how craven he had been.

Robb came over to sit by him, young Brynden in his arms. His cousin was a devoted father, he had sparked a deep envy in Jon more than once.

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”  Robb had not so much as spared him a glance.

“What would that be?”

“When we were boys, we once longed to leave Winterfell and the north behind to be great knights and go on adventures. But, one day, you wake up and realize everything you could ever want is here within the walls of Winterfell, if only you had the courage to ask for it.” He paused, making faces at his son, “If one lacks that courage, perhaps he does not want it so much after all. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to tell my wife how much I love her.” He patted Jon’s arm and left him to sit alone.

Jon watched Robb with his family, deliberating. “Where is Sansa?”

Rickon had grown sullen. “It’s your fault. She left to go look at sapphires.”

Jon’s brow wrinkled in confusion, Rickon’s words made little sense.

Bran sighed. “No, Rickon. It’s an island and she is not going there today.” He looked up from his book. “She left as soon as she finished singing.”

“Where did she go?”

Silence.

“Is she in her rooms?”

“No.”

“If she wanted you to know, she would have told you.” Rickon was very loyal to his sister.

Bran stared at him, deciding, before turning his attention back to reading. “I sent Summer to watch over her, listen for his howls.”

“I wish you luck, Snow,” Robb called out as Jon left them behind.

He left the great keep, thinking to look in the godswood or maester’s turret when he heard Summer in the distance. Jon followed the sounds, quickly realizing where Sansa had hidden away.

The glow of candlelight drew him towards her, towards the back of the glass gardens where she sat by the rose bushes. Jon would swear she had never looked more beautiful.

“Sansa.”

“Yes, Jon?” She wore her mask, Jon could not say whether she was angry or pleased to see him, or even something else entirely.

He felt lost, once the decision had been made to seek her out, Jon had not considered what he would say. “I came back today with the intent of asking you to marry me. Then Arya drew me away and I had tasks to attend to. Rickon says you are going away. Is that true?”

She ignored his question. “I have had many foolish dreams crushed over the years but I never thought I would receive a marriage proposal that would sound as if it was one task amongst many, if only my suitor had not been distracted. I deserve better.”

Jon knew he was making an utter bollocks of the whole thing. “And I deserved that.” He approached her. “May I sit?”

At her curt nod, Jon removed his cloak and laid it on the ground next to her, gesturing in offer, should she choose to rest on it. She did not. He lowered himself until he sat across from her, only a couple paces away. He felt it was close enough to touch her yet far enough away to respect the distance she seemed to want between them. “I would like to try again.”

Sansa did not respond but her mask was slipping away, replaced with the look of tenderness he had grown to care for so deeply. “I love you. I say that first so there is no doubt between us, no mistaking my feelings. He paused, pulling the hair from his face and scratching at his scalp. “I once thought all that lay between us was friendship, convinced myself you thought the same even. But, I was wrong. My love for you is not what lays between friends or cousins.”

Jon stopped, not sure how to continue. He could feel a trickle of cold sweat fall down his back.

Sansa moved closer so they faced each other, knees touching. Her hair shimmered red, the flames lent her skin a golden sheen. “Ask me, go on, ask.” She wiped at her eyes.

“Marry me, tonight, this very moment even. I should have asked before, I should have asked you in that crofter’s village. I love you desperately, I hope you know that.”

She laughed. “You’re asking now, that’s all that matters, and yes, you idiot, of course, I’ll marry you.”

She leaned towards him, he reached out and pulled her into his lap, twining his hands through her hair and bent her down for a kiss. He felt her stroking his chest and his hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips as he pulled her even closer to him. Their kiss went on and on, the intensity ever growing. “Wait, Sansa. What would Robb say if he knew what we were doing?”

She gazed down at him. “Let him say what he will. We will be married tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?”

She lightly kissed his lips. “Quite. What did you say? We should have before, we should have in the crofter’s village.”

He grinned against her lips. “So I did.”

They slowly undressed each other before he laid her down on his cloak and rested between her thighs. Jon slowly entered her, looking into Sansa’s eyes the entire time.

She cupped his face. “I love you, too, Jon Snow.”

They moved and blended together in their passion. Jon began to recite her name as he lost himself in her body until waves of pleasure came on them both and they moaned together as he spilled into her.

Her legs were still wrapped around his hips, keeping him with her. He stroked her hair away from her face before kissing her once more. “Tomorrow?”

“In the godswood. In the morning, early.”

He laughed. “While it’s still dark?"

“We will wake them together.”

“And tonight?"

She put her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a another kiss. “We will practice our bedding once more, in my chambers, on a soft, feather bed.”

Jon pulled away to sit up, bringing her with him and began to stroke her hair. “You are the love of my life, Sansa,  I hope you know that.”

“And you are mine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, I pictured Robb as Francis and Bran/Rickon as Jud and Prudie.
> 
> Edit: For anyone wondering about the song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2290mXA0--A


End file.
